Someone That You're With
by SaneYaoiAddict
Summary: Matt is the new boy at Wammy's, and although Mello doesn't want to admit it, he has a bit of a crush on him. But Matt has the girls at Wammy's at his side, to use as he pleases.
1. Chapter 1

_**Yes, based on the song by Nickelback. **_

_**Wow, I actually managed to plan a story**__**—**__**I had up until chapter three planned BEFORE I started writing. Hopefully, that'll become a more regular thing, and put an end to inconsistencies. I really looked forward to writing this for a week or two, and now that I'm done with Reward, I have time**__**. **__**This is also pretty lighthearted, and there really shouldn't be much angst in this. I'm not too used to first-person though, and I hope I have all of that consistent, but if I made a mistake, please tell me.**_

_**Anyway, here's the first chapter.**_

__The window, as it always was the day rankings were posted (every Sunday), was open. I didn't want to break it again—that had hurt, and I'd had to write left-handed for a month.

Carefully, and with a deep breath, I unfolded the paper that had taunted me for the past hour. My eyes were closed; I gradually opened one enough to peek out at the first letter of the first name—all I needed, really, to know if it was the same as all those weeks prior.

N.

_Near! Damn it! _

"Every fucking week!" I swore, grabbing the nearest object—a large book on physics—and hurled it out the window.

"Take that, you short, white-haired fucker!" I yelled out the window, clinging to the windowsill and sticking my head out, as if _he _would even be able to hear. We lived on opposite ends of the orphanage, after I became known for my famous once-a-week fits of rage, always directed at Near. The bane of my existence.

I paid no mind to the figures _actually _outside, an unfamiliar redheaded boy standing near Roger, confused, nor to the fact that, when the book I threw landed maybe a foot away from the boy, Roger tilted his head up as well, towards my third-story room, to yell at me; I could barely hear him anyway.

They eventually disappeared, no doubt in a rush to get inside, where it was warm; England's winters were no joke. I went back to shouting obscenities at my not-present rival. Maybe someone would relay the message.

Of course, the boy would not be forgotten so easily, and Roger had always had it out for me, so I was only mildly surprised when I heard a knock at my door about fifteen minutes later. I was even less shocked to see that it was Roger, still with the boy, standing in the hallway, with the very book I had thrown out the window in his hand. He offered it out to me.

Roger hated kids, particularly the mess involved, so I should have known it would be picked up and returned.

I took the book from Roger and threw it back on the bed. I contemplated throwing it back outside, but figured there wasn't much of a chance Roger would get it for me again—and I needed write a report on that book.

"I would appreciate if you would stop throwing your things out of the window," Roger said wearily. "You could have hurt someone."

"I'll try to," I said with a mischievous smirk. We both knew I wouldn't. And if I hurt someone, it didn't really matter to me.

"So, who's he?" I nodded towards the redhead, speaking with mild curiosity. I hadn't been able to see much detail when he was outside, but as I looked closer, the boy seemed to be my age, about fourteen, give or take a few months.

That was good, already. Most of the people were younger than I was, or weren't interesting enough to keep me focused.

Or girls.

But I could tell he was different—maybe his vibrant red hair gave it away. I wanted to know more.

And, hell, he _was _kind of cute.

"This is Matt," Roger said; I nearly forgot I was supposed to be paying attention. The new boy was distracting me.

"His room will be just across from yours. Please try to work on your temper, if you decide to tell him how things are here, from a student's perspective. I already gave him a tour, so he can find his own way around," he said. "I don't want to hear someone had to pull you off of Near…Again."

And with that, Roger left us alone. For the first time. My heart was already beating faster; what was I supposed to say? All the times I thought of meeting a boy, words came to me easily. But now, I had none.

But it turned out, I didn't need them—he spoke first. "So…" he said awkwardly, looking at the ground and fidgeting with his hands, as if he was used to having something to hold, something to occupy them.

At least I wouldn't have to worry about being socially awkward if he was, too. Or did that mean I had to be _more _outgoing if I wanted to be close to him? Oh, damn it!

"What's it like here?" he finally finished.

I—internally—breathed a sigh of relief. If he was going to ask questions, that was easy. Honesty was easy, even if I chose not to be—completely, anyway—sometimes.

"Not too bad—you get your own room, and after lessons—which are assigned by interest, intelligence, and specialties—you're allowed to go anywhere, as long as it's on the grounds." I spoke somewhat-robotically, but it was better than letting him know I was nervous, right?

I could tell it seemed to be boring matt, so, with a devious smile, I added, "Just stay away from Near—I don't like him—and I guarantee you'll have at least one friend here."

Oh, god. Did that sound cheesy? No…He smiled. That's a good sign.

"I think I realized that when you started yelling," he said with a wider grin. "And the book. That was a pretty big clue, too."

He didn't ask about Near, though, so I filed away my well-rehearsed rant (to an audience of anyone who dared bring up his name) for later.

Still, the reminder that we didn't exactly start off on good terms made me blush.

"Sorry for that, by the way. I was… Testing the gravity here."

_Damn it! That was so stupid!_

But it got a laugh out of him—oh, God, I already loved the sound—so I smiled too, acting as if I'd actually meant to say it.

"I think it works," he said with a grin.

"Yeah," I said, kind of stupidly, mentally kicking myself for it. Why was I being so _stupid_?

"Sounds like you do it often," he continued, still grinning at me. I loved the sight. "Is it just you, or does everyone decide to test out the gravity every now and then?"

"It's just me," I said with a smile. "Nobody else seems as concerned as I am. Unless you'd like to try it sometime?" I said it with a smile, a lighthearted tone, but it still apparently came out wrong—maybe like a threat—because he only muttered "Maybe" and withdrew to his room.

Damn it! I blew it.

I didn't have any choice after that—other than sit out in the hallway waiting for him and staring at the door, which would be creepy and ruin any chances I might still have had with him—than go to my own room and think about Matt. And, of course, the ever-important issue of what I'd say to him when I saw him next. Whenever that would be.

As I thought of him, I smiled; I couldn't help it, despite the nauseous feeling in my stomach, the product of negative, nervous thoughts (_would he even ever talk to me again? How badly did I mess up? Does he think I'm stupid? What did he think when he saw me?_).

Matt… I tried to recall every detail; his messy red hair, his gorgeous eyes—oh, damn it, what color were his eyes?

Oh, well I'd have a long time to gaze into them later. Hopefully. If he didn't get creeped out by it.

The thought brought a smile to my face. Oh, why was I being such a _girl? _Did love do this to everyone?

…Love?

God, I was close to one of those girls talking to their pets like _people _(for me, of course, I'd talk about Matt), if I assumed it was _love. _

Honestly. _Girls _fell in love. Right? I was too tough for this. I'd never turned to mush like this around any boy before, or even _thinking _about one, cute or not.

And God, was he cute.

As the thought made me smile and nearly _squeal_, I reached down my pants to be sure I was still _male. _

I was.

_Thank God. _Reassured, I allowed myself to begin my Sunday ritual—studying for hours on end, without distraction, so I could _win _next week.

Of course, the physics book reminded me of Matt—not that I could really get him out of my mind, anyway—so I began one of the many reports on scientific theories (I'd already memorized the most important facts, anyway) that I'd have to do by the end of the week.

By the time I finished (two of them, more than _Near _would have done by this time) it was already past eleven at night. I debated going across the hall to tell Matt good night—and that if he needed to know what classroom to go to tomorrow after breakfast, even though he would have a map and schedule, that he could ask me—but decided it was a bit creepy. And he may have been asleep anyway.

I finally stopped resisting the overflow of thoughts of Matt, tormenting me as I tried to do my reports, allowing myself to dwell on his features and analyze the words he'd said to me, his voice like a song. I set it on repeat, a smile on my face for once, as someone _besides _Near was on my mind when I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

Or, well, I tried to—I couldn't stop _thinking. _Usually, it was about Near, his stupid smugness, but tonight Matt dominated my mind. As much as it pained me to, I forced myself to empty my mind, including, sadly, my mental picture of Matt's gorgeous face.

And I eventually managed to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, instead of immediately remembering my failure, my second-place ranking—as was typical of Monday mornings—Matt was the first thing I thought of. I wanted to see him, to talk to him again. To get closer to him—he probably thought of me as a friend, at least, since it seemed I was the only person he'd talked to. I hoped he was my friend, at least.

_Maybe I should see if he wants me to show him where the cafeteria is? Maybe we could go together. _

The thought made me smile. Maybe I could convince him to hold hands—_oh, how stupid was this going to make me?_

I hurried through my shower, soaping myself up hurriedly, in random places, and washed my hair quickly, too (I, of course, couldn't quit doing things like this; I had to look my best, at all times, and especially now—for Matt).

As soon as I finished brushing my hair (I had long hair in a 'feminine' hairstyle—it was inevitable), forgoing the blow drier for once, I wondered if he would even be awake. I'd feel guilty if I woke him up, but stupid if I got there and he was gone.

After waiting a few minutes in my bathroom (simultaneously looking at my reflection, making sure I looked my best) I made myself walk out the door. But without even going to knock on his door, I knew he was awake—and didn't need anyone to guide him to the cafeteria.

Anyone _else, _anyway. It seemed he was more than satisfied by the blonde, big-breasted girl attached to his arm.

She was such a _whore! _Weren't friends supposed to come first, anyway? Well… We weren't technically friends, I guessed, but _still!_

He didn't even seem to notice as I passed him, making my way to the cafeteria, twice as pissed as I normally was on a Monday—Near's success (and my failure that accompanied it) hit me again, and the new anger and jealousy directed at Matt and his apparent girlfriend only made it worse.

But as I made it through the lunch line, I realized the girl he was with in the hall wasn't the only one—they all flocked towards him, crowded around him at a table. And apparently, he _liked _that they were there—_but what guy wouldn't?_ I thought to myself_—_he laughed, before pulling one of them close and kissed her. They both smiled after he pulled away, though the girl looked a bit surprised, yet pleased, and blushed.

I liked his smile before, but now it filled me with rage. I couldn't believe how he already had managed to betray me—though I had no reason to feel betrayed, since we weren't ever _together._

Maybe we never would be. He was so obviously _straight, _with all his little _whores _gathered around him.

But couldn't he at least have told me about it, or offered to "share"—not that I would; girls who give themselves away just because someone is 'hot' annoy me—if we really _were _friends?

I didn't even know that I was digging my nails into my palms until I felt the warm blood trickling down my fingers. I couldn't bear to watch this any longer.

Without even eating—I slammed my tray on the table and left it there, my stomach too sick to even contemplate eating—I knew I was done here. I turned around.

I was the first one in the classroom that day, but the fact that I'd finally beaten Near in _something _didn't excite me like it normally would have.

_**Wow, I wrote this chapter in like three days…Most of which was on the first. (: I'm proud of myself, actually, for writing something that isn't overly explicit, aside from Mello's overobsession with swear words. And…Creepily groping himself. O_O I like how he's REALLY GIRLY in this. And out of character. Sorry. =/ **_

_**But, anyway, I'll hopefully have the next chapter up soon. Hopefully less than a week? (: It turned out longer than I thought it would (but still shorter than most of my other chapters for other stories…)**_

_**Tell me what you think so far? **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter two! :D I decided to update early for two reasons—the positive response for it, and I realized I'm leaving for a ten to fourteen day trip earlier than I thought (tomorrow!). Still, I hope you enjoy this. (: **_

As I waited for everyone else to arrive—I still had an hour before class started—I decided that if I couldn't get Matt, I would devote myself to my studies like before. I'd slacked off enough thinking about him, when I could have studied even more. The thought didn't even satisfy me—I wanted Matt, more than anything else. I'd rather have him kiss me than beat Near for a week, than humiliate him, even.

What was Matt changing me into? I wasn't _as _angry at Near when he walked in—though I did take the liberty of throwing my eraser at him as he walked through the door. But rather than glare at him as he sat in his chair, I watched the clock. Half an hour until class started, now—and four hours until lunch. My stomach rumbled just thinking about him.

I sat at my desk, an open book in front of me, but I couldn't focus on it. I alternated between drumming my fingers on the desk, checking the clock and glancing at the door any time I heard it open. Not glaring at Near, like I usually would; thinking of _Matt. _Wondering when he would arrive.

Even with most of the students already seated, there were still a lot of empty desks—this room was used to teach the top fifteen, though there were rows in the front, middle, and back of the class, in the left, right, or right areas of the room, to allow students to choose where they could sit.

Matt didn't occupy any of the desks, and with a nervous feeling in my stomach, I wondered if he was with his little group of whores.

With ten minutes to spare, Matt walked through the doors, two girls at his side. I couldn't be bothered to remember their names, though I went to class with them every day we had lessons. They seemed to be the only girls in this class obsessed with him; other girls _were _looking at him, but not the same way. I guess I was right when I assumed the girls he was with were stupid… For this place, anyway. Nobody in the higher rankings would be caught treating him like that. It was degrading.

Which made me think—he was in the top fifteen. I'd have to ask him later what rank he was. I kicked myself mentally for not realizing it earlier; obviously, someone had to be kicked out of the class for him to join, and as I looked around the room, I found one of the kids missing. I didn't know his name, but I knew his face well enough to process he was missing, while there were fifteen of us in the room. Oh, well. I wouldn't miss him, anyway.

Even with all the empty desks, Matt sat right next to _me, _the girls hurriedly rushing into the seats near him.

So _now _he was going to recognize me? I was pleased and bitter about it at the same time.

"Hey," he said with a smirk, leaning in closer so the girls couldn't hear him; they were engaged in a conversation with each other, wildly gesturing with their hands. "All the girls love me."

"I've noticed," I said disapprovingly. I really didn't care for this kind of thing—I bumped into couples extra hard in the hallway, with the kind of strength usually reserved for Near.

Near, who wasn't even the subject of my hatred anymore. It was all those _girls _Matt insisted on spending his time with now.

And now, though romance seemed unnecessary before, I wanted to be _part _of a couple—with Matt.

"You could at least act like you care," Matt said, in a hurt tone that made me feel a little guilty. "Since you're the closest thing I have to a friend here."

"I'm sorry, it's just—"

At that moment, the teacher started the lesson. I would have been angry—well, I still was—but I just would have said something to embarrass myself again, so I let it go and focused on the lesson.

Even over the teacher, I could hear Matt whisper to one of the girls at his side, making her giggle. I tried to focus on what the teacher said, on taking clear, neatly-written notes, but Matt's plans for "After class, okay?" made it difficult to concentrate. Even the pleasant distracted thoughts (of shoving Near out a window—gravity was what we were studying today, and I'd love to use _him _to "test the gravity") didn't make me smile for longer than a few seconds.

The girls' giggling, though not loud enough to distract me under normal circumstances, proved irritating. I nearly snapped my pencil in half after being forced to listen to it for a minute or so. It quieted, to my relief, soon after; I saw Matt pass me a note (I could see my name on the outside of the folded paper in scrawled, barely-legible writing), setting it on top of my notes.

Since the teacher was just answering questions (and I had none), I unfolded it immediately, the writing taking a few seconds to decipher. It read:

_Hey, unless you feel like joining me, don't come to my room until after dinner. I have a bunch of girls coming over—the girls here have a few friends I convinced them to invite—and I want to see how far they'll let me go. (; We'll try to keep it down, though, so you can study…Unless you want to participate? It might actually be better if I wasn't the only guy there._

Matt looked at me proudly, nodding his head at the two girls sitting near him.

The thought disgusted me—both that Matt would try to have _sex _with them, and that he was offering them to me. Like it was a game. I was full of jealousy. Couldn't he see? I didn't want to have sex with them, or _any _girl.

I wanted _him. _

So I shook my head at him, and he said a few things to the girls. I was aware of their eyes on me, and their stupid _giggling _seemed to get louder. I couldn't bear it—not when I heard the words, "…all to myself," spoke from one of their stupid, unfit mouths.

I gathered my things, crumpling his note in my fist, and headed towards the door. I didn't care that the lesson was barely half-over, or that everyone—including Matt, and those idiotic girls around him—was staring, or that the teacher briefly disrupted his answer to one of the students to call after me. I was already out in the hallway, headed to my room, the only place I felt comfortable letting my emotions (besides anger) out.

And I had quite a lot of emotions running through my head, practically bursting out even as I walked up the stairs to my room. Thankfully, the halls were void of people to witness me in such a state—although I _could _use them to relieve some of my anger, especially if the next person to cross my path was a girl…

But I decided the wall to my immediate right would serve that purpose. After leaving a small dent in the wall, I continued my climb up the stairs, ignoring the pain in my hand. Guess I'd have to write left-handed for a while now, again. But I didn't really care, for the moment. Not now that thoughts of Matt threatened to make me cry.

I finally made it to my room, slamming it to express my rage, though to no one; they wouldn't even hear—everyone was still in class, and classrooms were on the first floor, too far away for them to hear.

Almost as soon as the door shut, I opened it again, glancing down the disappointingly empty hallway in both directions.

Matt didn't follow me. Nobody followed me.

Why didn't anybody follow me?

Frustrated, I slammed the door shut again, locking it this time. I fell against the door, bringing my knees to my chest, allowing myself to sob, tears leaking onto my jeans and sleeves of my shirt.

No sense in holding it back if he wasn't even _worried _about me, for God's sake. Why wasn't he looking for me? He said I was the closest thing he had to a friend here.

_He probably doesn't want to ruin his chances with those sluts, _I thought, immediately forcing it out of my head. Even though I knew it was the truth, or at least the closest thing I could come up with without talking to him.

And he didn't want me to talk to him, did he? He'd shown it, after practically _telling _me in that damn note of his. Speaking of which…

I unfolded the paper, still crumbled in my fist—it was now wrinkled even more than originally, from his folds—just to read the words, even though they were now smudged, slightly-torn, which made them harder to read, and infuriated me even when I wasn't _quite _as emotional (they were what brought me into this state, after all). I folded it again, so I could read my name in his writing, messy as it was—it was better than his words. My name showed he cared—the words showed he didn't want me close.

Now when he completely ignored me forever, I could remember there was a time, however brief, that he had thought of me. As a friend. Someone to share things—though things I wasn't interested in—with.

I don't know how long I sat there, thinking like that, but the lunch bell rang, pulling my out of my thoughts. I decided to go, though I didn't seem to be hungry anyway. Thoughts of Matt took priority even over basic instinct—eating, or hating Near.

As I walked down the halls, glaring at anyone who looked at me, I figured Matt might at least talk to me, or ask if I was all right, but when I stepped into the cafeteria, I saw he was with those _girls _again.

Frustrated, I sat at a table facing the opposite direction, and across the room from him. I didn't want to watch him laughing and flirting with those girls—I lost what little appetite I had left just thinking about it. I wasn't even aware there were this many girls at Wammy's!

I ate quickly, not wanting to overhear even one _word _he spoke, not with that fake soothing, caring tone, or a second of a giggle (as he probably _kissed _one, the thought making my stomach churn and make me have to fight to keep down the few bites I had managed to swallow). After I was done nibbling at the meager meal I had—I didn't even want to bother getting a lot, when I knew I wouldn't eat much—I went back to my room, Matt still on my mind. Tempted as I was to glance at him as I walked out the door, I knew seeing those sluts with him would only make it hurt more, and make it more likely for me to make a scene. My emotions were already high, and I didn't care to make it worse. I'd already made a scene in front of him today—I didn't want to make another one.

I slammed the door of my room, not even bothering to lock it again (why bother? He wouldn't try to come in to talk to me, he was busy with those girls) before I headed to my bed. I felt so _empty _knowing he chose those worthless sluts over me. I pulled out some of the chocolate I kept reserved for times emotions were high—typically, when Near went another week undefeated by me. But now, I needed it more than ever, and just because of _Matt. _Near had nothing to do with my emotions this time, which surprised me, but I was too occupied with my feelings to dwell on it.

I wasn't even _hungry, _and couldn't even taste it after the first few bites, but I _needed _it. I fell into a pattern: raise bar, bite, chew, wipe tears, swallow, repeat, and every so often, I'd reach for a new bar, throwing the empty wrapper on the floor.

I ate my way through the whole box after a while. I probably had a hell of a stomachache, but I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn't notice.

I hurled the empty box at the wall, listening to the hollow thud as it made contact. Then I curled up on my side and allowed the tears to keep coming, void of any feeling but the loneliness.

In just two days—hours, really—Matt had changed me from a proud, aggressive, dominant teenager to a girly, emotional, crying wreck. I didn't like the change—I was fine before, even if I was lonely at times, but I never turned into _this. _I never cried like _this, _not over something as stupid as jealousy—jealousy enraged me, made me stronger. It didn't turn me into _this, _this weak creature, a vague imitation of what I used to be.

So… Was I always this? An obedient, subservient, crying mess? My normal self would have marched up to Matt, grabbed him, and dragged him to my room, without giving a damn what he thought or whether he wanted it or not. But now, I was a coward—worrying what he thought about me, the thought of competition unbearable.

I lost all track of time, thinking about the mess I had become—which enraged me—and of Matt, which started the cycle over again. My thoughts always brought me back to Matt, which only made me hurt more. Just as I stopped crying, I thought of him and felt even worse than before.

The way I was now, I couldn't face him. It hurt, every time. I'd have to wait for all the _girls _to be gone to even consider it.

I sniffled, wiping the last of the tears from my eyes, surprised to find I really was done crying. Curious, I glanced at the clock, shocked to find it was already six thirty.

_Six thirty! Dinner's already half over!_

I was more surprised than angry I had missed the first half of dinner; I wasn't even hungry, so I likely wouldn't have gone anyway—with my chocolate binge (that I now cursed myself for, since I was right, and I _did _now have a painful stomachache), it was unlikely I would eat until lunch tomorrow, at the soonest.

So, for the remaining half-hour until Matt would be free, I half-heartedly flipped through the physics book again, though grew bored quickly—I kept glancing at the clock, waiting for the time to pass. I wanted to talk to Matt again. For the remaining fifteen minutes (after I dropped the book near my bed, bored) I gathered my courage, trying to think of what I should say to Matt. I braced myself to ask him out—I might as well be direct.

By the time my breathing evened out after resigning myself to telling Matt I cared for him, it was 7:10. At first, I was angry with myself, but then I realized it was better the later I went to see him—it would look like I had better things to do than sit around and mope all day, thinking about him. I'd look…Casual, if I waited a while.

I forced myself to stand, then to walk out the door, and finally, calmed my nerves enough to the point that I knocked on his door.

As he answered—hiding a view of his room with his body—I felt suddenly self-conscious. Could he tell I'd been crying most of the day? Was my face red? Was my hair messy?

I coughed awkwardly, forgoing the carefully-planned words, others forcing their way from my throat, to my dismay.

_Maybe if I act dedicated to my schooling, and talk to him like fellow classmates did (without all the violence, so…like _normal _classmates) he won't think I'm strange just standing here… _

_ I really should have waited to talk to him…_

My failed reasoning was the reason for the utterly stupid words that came from my mouth.

"Can I borrow your notes? I left early, so I want to know if I missed anything important."

Word vomit. Still, I hoped it sounded believable. I knew he _watched _me write my own notes, for God's sake! At least I had the last part…

"You're so focused on school," he noted with a smile; it made me blush. "You can relax a bit—you're in the top three. Impressive, I have to admit."

_Well, isn't he _relaxed, I thought bitterly. Apparently, my sarcasm and wit didn't go away, with my masculinity. I was pleased to discover this.

I dwelled on his words for a second—it sounded like he was _flirting! _But no, that wasn't possible, was it?

I couldn't help blushing as I spoke, though I did so seriously; I couldn't risk flirting with him, it'd make the conversation awkward—even if that was the point of this conversation—or not as serious as I needed it to be.

"How do you think I _made _the top three? And I can't relax—I have to be first." My gaze was harsh (too harsh, maybe? I lessened it up after a few seconds) just from thinking about it. I didn't have to fake that, at least, and now he wouldn't tease me anymore. Which made me a little sad, even though I knew it was hard to bear.

"Fair enough." He shrugged. "But I _saw _you take your notes," he said with a smile, leaning against the door frame. "And we mostly discussed the book after that, as anyone in the class could have told you, so you don't have anything to make up or notes to copy."

"Oh. Well…" I felt so stupid. _Quick, make up an excuse!_

"I… Lost them," I said, rather stupidly.

Matt looked at me skeptically, his lips twitching as he struggled to keep himself from smiling. "You _lost _them?"

"…Yes."

Matt, looking like he desperately wanted to burst out laughing, said, "Wait here," and shut the door, though not in a rude way, presumably going to get his notes.

Just as the temptation to look inside rose to an almost unbearable level, Matt returned, bearing a single piece of paper in his hand, though there was no _way _he could have _all _the information we had covered in class today on _one _sheet of paper.

As he handed it to me, a soft murmur of "Thanks" escaping my lips, I saw his writing was even more illegible than the note he gave me in class.

"This is all?" I asked incredulously.

"Well," he said with a grin," I _lost _the rest." He gave me a mischievous look, as if he knew more than he let on, though in a playful way, and I sighed.

"Fine, so that's not the real reason I came here," I admitted.

"You underestimate me." Though his eyes were closed, his face conveyed amusement with a small smile as he shook his head. "I already guessed that. So why _are _you here?" He still smiled, amused.

Well, I guess I _had _underestimated him. I forgot, sometimes, that other people than me (or, unfortunately, _Near_) were able to _understand _things.

"Well," I said, suddenly nervous. "I just wanted to ask—"

To my simultaneous relief, annoyance—yes, it was possible—and jealousy, a girl materialized behind Matt, tapping him on the shoulder. "Matt?" she said in a teasing voice, elongating the 'a' unnecessarily.

_How dare she defile his name! _I cursed in my head, barely restraining an expression of intense hatred.

"Just give me a minute," he said, completely unconcerned, though he had a smile on his face.

The girl, displeased, left, raven hair flying as she quickly turned.

"Who is she?" I asked, hoping my jealousy wasn't evident in my voice.

Matt shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know. It doesn't really matter, though, does it?"

Cruel as that was, I agreed—and was _pleased _to hear she didn't matter to him.

"Look, I have to go. But what did you want to ask me? I can stay for a few minutes, if you need."

I shook my head. I didn't want to have this conversation rushed. "Nothing."

He looked at me with a curious expression for a moment before saying, "All right, then," and closing the door gently. Within moments, I heard words being exchanged—I couldn't make them out, which was a blessing—and giggling.

Faced with no other choice, I sighed and returned to my room for the night.

_**Sorry Mello's so OOC. . It seemed the right thing to add to the story. Sorry to say this when I won't be able to update for a while, but I think the next chapter should be more enjoyable (and with far less angst). This is REALLY fun to write. (: **_

_**I would appreciate reviews, even though I won't be able to reply to them for a while. (: **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Well, now that I'm back from my trip, enjoy this chapter. (: It's shorter than the others, but it seemed logical to end it there. For compensation, I should have the next one up soon, since it's pretty much done.**_

After a few days, Matt had established a reputation of, well, the most popular kid in Wammy's, a place never before occupied; most of us were busy with other things to care. He was smart, even for here (third place, right on my heels!), funny (the girls around him were always laughing), social (he even had a few guy friends, though I noticed he didn't treat them like the girls), and, of course, attractive. He had it all.

Last night, I heard him sneak out, and by the time he came back, it was _four A.M. _He _had _to be with one of those… sluts. Not that I could blame whatever lucky bitch he was with—I'd gladly trade places with one of those girls and do anything he wanted… But _would _he want to do anything, though? I wasn't a _girl, _no matter how emotional I'd become lately.

It's not like I was staying awake just waiting for him to come back. I was studying. At three thirty in the morning. With no books.

Not to mention, I've heard him with those girls a few times already, in his room. Not that I was listening—it was easy to hear, though I tried to block it out. Or wondering what it was like to kiss Matt, to have him touch me, hold me…

But I can't—I can't even get close enough to him to _talk _for more than a few seconds before he gets dragged away, stolen from me—not that he would ever be _mine_—by one of his endless girls or the male 'friends' he hung out with in their absence.

And even when I managed to get him away from the endless crown of admirers, we were never alone—it was always in the classroom or hallway, when we could be overheard. Or I lost my nerve, and by the time I was ready again to ask, he was being dragged away, or class started, or lunch ended, or someone arrived and interrupted our conversation.

It was unbearable, and it had to end—now.

I hadn't tried to talk with Matt for a while, maybe a day or so—I got frustrated and had to get away for a while. But watching him from a distance was even worse—I could feel my heart slow with every laugh; it was killing me.

I'd just finished playing football—as we call it here in England—with some boys I knew, mostly as an excuse to kick the ball at them, and was walking through the hallway and up the stairs to my room when I decided to try my luck with Matt again. Maybe if he was in his room, he'd be alone for once, or at least he wouldn't be snatched away at the last second—hardly anyone came up here, since it was so far out of the way, even now that Matt was here.

He had to be alone sometime, so I decided to try again.

As I neared his door, I hesitated—maybe I should shower first?—but then I heard something that made me smile: Matt was playing music. I listened closer, to find that he was singing along—not too badly, either—until I could make out the words.

I instantly recognized the song, and blushed as I imagined him dancing, as well. Half naked, of course, because it wasn't dancing without being partially naked.

"_I'm bringin' sexy back… (yeah!)"_

I couldn't help but smile—_it was the truth, _I thought. Even if he was being a _bit _overconfident.

"_You see these shackles, baby, I'm your slave…"_

_ Oh, I wish. _

But after a while, I fought back my grin, forced back my inappropriate thoughts, and knocked on his door.

I heard the music immediately shut off, as if he was embarrassed that it was playing, and heard him move things around—hiding props, maybe? I wouldn't be too surprised—before he answered, his hair messy (in a good, rugged, manly way, though) and his shirt wrinkled, as if he'd thrown it on in a hurry.

Excited as I was that I was _right _about him being half naked, I fought back thoughts of a shirtless Matt—though I'd think of it _later, _no doubt—and grinned casually, hoping I wasn't blushing as well, and said, "That could be true. I've heard what the girls say about you."

I didn't mention I thought the same, even though I _came _to tell him that. Still, he laughed, and smiled as he shot back, "Jealous?"

Blushing, I struggled to keep the casual tone I (barely) managed earlier, though I _was _jealous—of the girls—as I got closer to making my point.

"Not really; I'm not interested in girls, so it doesn't matter. I'd actually hate if they were over me, like they are for you." I smirked a bit, hoping I wasn't blushing—it'd ruin the effect of my words.

Matt paused for a second or two as the words sank in. "So that's why that note freaked you out…" he said, mainly to himself.

"I guess you could say that."

He didn't have anything to say to that, so to avoid the awkward tension of silence, for a few seconds, anyway, I peeked into his bedroom.

I saw a speaker system, and a multitude of gaming consoles and games, in their cases, scattered along the floor and in a stack near a TV—that explained his twitchy fingers.

His bed was messy, but I didn't know if he just never made his bed, or decided to use it as the stage for his impromptu concert a few minutes ago. I smiled at the thought.

After a few deep breaths, I finally calmed myself enough to speak the words gnawing at my mind.

_Now or never._

"So, I came to ask you something." My voice was calm, but on the inside, it was utter turmoil—my heart rate couldn't possibly increase any more, my stomach churned, threatening to expel its contents, my throat was dry, and it was impossible to swallow, and my thoughts raced with possible reactions. He could _hate _me for telling him this, he could ignore me, he could attack me, or tell everyone… I forced myself to think, _but he could love me, too, _even though it seemed so unlikely.

_ I can't take that back. Now I _have _to ask!_

Matt studied me curiously for a second, apparently trying to figure out what I was thinking just from looking at me. I prayed my face didn't give it away, and that he couldn't tell how nervous I was. His intense gaze didn't help either—I felt that if I had to say it _now, _with him staring, I wouldn't be able to say it.

But he finally said, "So, ask," and continued looking at me—but less intensely, which was a relief, as if he thought that if he continued that gaze, he'd scare me off. Which was true.

The words didn't come as easily as I had hoped; I had to pause to rephrase them, and pause every few words, but at least I didn't choke on them.

"Would you… Consider me… As a…" I took a deep breath before continuing. "Boyfriend?"

Ignoring my hopeful, nervous, wide-eyed expression, Matt just slammed the door in my face, leaving me to stand there, stunned.

_**Reviews would be very much appreciated. (: **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I wanted to finish chapter five and plan out chapter six before I uploaded this, but that didn't happen, so I'll just upload it now. Sorry for the wait, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. (:**_

Matt avoided me after that. However I tried to get close, he went out of his way to avoid me. In class, he switched desks so he didn't sit near me; in the cafeteria, he surrounded himself, literally, with the girls, even more so than usual; he didn't even answer me when I knocked on his door. He just let me stand there like an idiot, knocking every few seconds until my knuckles bled, until I finally left, frustrated, my knuckles stinging.

I knew he was there—I could hear him whenever he moved; his bed creaked when he moved, when he walked I could hear the floor groan under his weight, he dropped his textbooks on the floor, presumably when he was done with his 'homework,' and I could hear the sound effects on his games.

He even _knew _I was there. The second I slammed my door shut in frustration, I could hear _his _door open as he left, finally able to avoid me, to meet up with those _girls _he was so fond of, no doubt.

It discouraged me; I didn't know if he was trying to be theatrical about avoiding me, to hurt or discourage me, or if he genuinely didn't want to talk to me. But it didn't make me want to give up—I wanted to try harder, to get him to talk to me again.

But after a week of this, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I didn't lie to be ignored.

Though it hurt, I watched Matt at lunch—watched him laugh and talk with the girls eternally surrounding him, watched him have a great time while I sat by myself. I stayed longer than usual—I usually ate as fast as possible, these days, avoiding the urge to look at matt, and left—to watch Matt and wait for the crowd of girls to go away. And though it seemed to last forever—each second, each minute, lasted for hours—the cafeteria slowly emptied out, kids leaving to prepare for their next class or hang out with friends, if they didn't have a class after, and the crowd around Matt diminished, slower than the rest of the cafeteria, until only two girls remained by his side.

The four of us were alone in the cafeteria. With the noise of the other conversations gone, I could make out the sound of Matt's voice, though I was mercifully too far away to make out the individual words, and the girls' laughter, even from across the room.

He stood up to leave, saying something to the girls—probably something _amazing, _like, "I'm going back to my room,"—and the girls stood up to follow him. I cursed—I'd been hoping they would leave so I could talk to him _alone. _But I could drag him away from them, to _force _him to talk with me alone.

I sat, not in my usual seat, but directly by the door—I didn't want to let him leave without a confrontation. I had to get there first.

When he neared the door, I stood up and blocked it, preventing him from exiting, vaguely aware that I looked like a mugger; I _did _technically ambush him…

"Matt, _please_! Talk to me. Just for a minute," I said, cursing myself for sounding whiny. "I've just been wanting an answer."

I grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the girls who still stood by the door. They looked at me, wide-eyed, as I dragged their "idol" away. I shot them a glare, hoping it was enough to deter them from following us. It was—they glanced at Matt, then stepped back to linger in the doorway.

He didn't make a move to rush back to them—I was both relieved (it was hard enough to get him here; I'd be pissed if he left) and sickly satisfied; he didn't care about them more than he wanted to avoid me. I was better than them, and he was willing to admit it, though nonverbally. I had him trapped, and he knew it.

He sighed and walked with me (I let go of his arm and saw him rub it, feeling a little guilty; I didn't think I grabbed him _that _hard) a few feet away, just far enough to put us out of earshot. I murmured an apology for holding him too hard, but he didn't do more than grunt a reply, so I decided to get to my point.

"Matt, just listen to me," I said once he stopped. "I just want to know if you care, if you _could. _Because I do—I love you. I'll be there for you, when no one else is.I want you to _talk _to me about this. I want you to _answer _me!"

I looked him in the eyes for a moment to see his immediate reaction once he registered the words. For an instant, I saw a trace of longing in his eyes, but it was so brief that I dismissed it; most of us, being orphans, were so desperate that, at first, our desire for someone to care for us overrode any hesitation we might have. Our desire for someone to love us was our first instinct.

Anger was his second—I saw the moment it happened, breaking my heart and shattering any hopes that he would _want _to be with me. His eyes narrowed and he glared back at me. It killed me; I didn't mean to make him angry, but apparently, I did.

Almost immediately, Matt snapped back. "You want me to answer? Fine! I'm _confused! _I don't know _what _to tell you! I can't even _think _about you without feeling… weird."

His voice softened a bit, and his expression changed into one of loneliness, instead of anger. He took a deep breath as he walked away from me. I took a few quick steps to follow him, instinctively reaching out to grab his arm, to keep him from leaving me. He looked at me with utter disgust.

"I just… I don't _know! _Leave me alone!"

Matt twisted his arm away, yanking it from my grasp. I looked at him, desperate and genuinely hurt, trying to find a trace of sadness or regret or adoration in his face, but I found none—Matt just looked back to glower at me, as if I didn't matter to him. And that hurt more than anything.

He just took a few casual, long steps to catch up with those girls, wrapping an arm around each. He said something to them that made them look at me and laugh, of all things.

The worst part was, it was probably a summary of our conversation. It filled me with rage—I could never hurt Matt, no matter what he said about me, but I almost wished I _could, _as revenge for the way he made me feel—he _crushed _me, _devastated _me, _ripped my heart out, _then got my hopes up so he could do it all over again.

"Jackass," I murmured as I began the sulk up to my room, being sure to take the long way so I didn't have to see him on the way there.

_**Sorry, again, it's a short chapter. But it made sense to end it here. **_

_**I'm not looking forward to editing the second chapter. I haven't had much inspiration to write lately, so I've kind of forced myself to, and I think it's shitty. It's probably not THAT bad, but still. These chapters aren't as fun to write as they used to be, probably because I didn't plan for Mello's numerous angst fests.**_

_**Still, I hope you enjoyed this nonetheless, and will review it. :] **_

_**Sorry I have such a nasty habit of cliffhangers! :D **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sorry, I had to finish my summer assignment, then I started school. So I didn't have much time set aside for writing. I got two projects already, and I started last Monday. I hate my school. We have eight classes. . But, for the time being, we're not doing anything in P.E., so I have an hour and a half to write. If I'm not in my mood where I hate EVERYTHING and EVERYONE that EXISTS. But it's not the place to rant, so enjoy the chapter. **_

His words kept echoing in my mind.

_I'm _confused_! I can't even think about _you _without feeling… weird. Leave me alone!_

_ Leave me alone!_

_**Leave me alone!**_

__Those last three words gave me such a headache! I tried to force the words out of my head, but nothing worked; I couldn't help dwelling on them. It just came with these damn feelings for him.

I kept having to make sure I was still _male. _Every hour or so, when the thoughts just got to be too much. I didn't feel _proud, _like the man I was.

I kept slamming my head on the desk, which did nothing for my headache, except make it worse. But that was the price I paid for a few seconds of reprieve from my damn over analyzing—his words, gestures, tone, expression…It was all so _conflicting, _so _confusing! _I didn't know what to think about him.

_And… There it goes again. _

I mentally cursed myself for the thousandth time in the past five hours, but it didn't stop the damn analyzing _thoughts _of what had happened earlier.

He seemed like… he _wanted _to say yes, to throw himself into my arms—that was from the look in his eyes for the few seconds he looked at me, biting his lip, before he yelled—but he didn't understand his own feelings, which started the yelling.

I couldn't blame him for that; he was confused about himself. Things he'd taken for granted, the facts that had been cemented into his brain, were being torn apart.

_Maybe, _I reminded myself.

It was something he had to figure out for himself; I'd have to stay out of it, to leave him alone, until he came to me. Until he was ready. There was nothing I could do; if I approached him before he understood his emotions—_hopefully they were positive, _I thought, my stomach twisting in complicated, impossible-to-undo knots again—he would just let his confusion take hold of him and yell at me again. Which would lead to both him _and _me being even _more _confused.

But _damn _it, how long would that take? It didn't seem like he understood _anything _about his emotions, which meant he'd repress them, complicating the situation further. Fuck. I hoped he wouldn't act like this for long. I was confused, worried, and obsessive enough without wondering what _he _was going through, too. And _that _made everything worse; I felt sympathetic. Or empathetic. Pathetic in general. Thinking of him suffering the same way (or even _worse_) than I was made me feel _horrible_.

God, that was the story of my life these days—since I met Matt, I'd become so different. Hatred for Near was no longer the most important thing in my life; my reason for existingwas something more than beating Near. _Matt _became my reason for living, and hate became love.

Desire to become L was put on hold. I didn't care for much, anymore—at least, I didn't care to the extent I used to.

Aside from Matt. It was like all my other emotions had been redirected towards him, the moment I met him. They had been purely love, but now, the confusion and anxiety and wanting to be _best _(now, just in his eyes) were there, too.

I wanted _him. _More than anything else. The love for him was stronger than any emotion I had felt in my life, and even now, it was the most prominent thing I felt, even with the mess of emotions overwhelming me. He was the cause of all my confusion, rage, and bliss. I was actually having _mood swings, _because of him.

First came the utter bliss, elation, a feeling that all was right with the world, when I thought of him—his face, his voice, his smile, his laugh. Then I remembered: I couldn't have him. He'd rather be with _sluts _than me. Sluts that had _breasts_; what an utterly ridiculous concept for that to be the _only _thing keeping him from wanting _me _the same way.

That activated the anger, the jealousy—how could something as simple as _having breasts _make them _better _than me in Matt's eyes? Why were _they _suitable to hang out with, to _kiss, _but I wasn't?

Then came the reminder of the words he said—or, more accurately, yelled, spat out like they repulsed him. I was _weird _to him. The cause of his confusion, nothing more. It made me feel so _guilty, _though I couldn't help my attraction to him, just as he couldn't help that it _repulsed _him. He didn't say it, but it was only _logical _for me to assume that. He obviously thought I was disgusting, weird, for asking for him to be my boyfriend.

I shouldn't have started fantasizing that he loved me. It only got my hopes up to crush them.

He would never love me. We were like magnets—I'd forever chase him, only to repel him. It was never meant to be.

But God, my stupid hope stayed. I couldn't help but think that, deep down—_really _deep down, from the way he yelled—he wanted _me _to hold him, kiss him, more than the girls.

Not that that said much.

I couldn't rid myself of the fantasy, the damn hope that he'd want me, when he obviously wouldn't.

Why would he? I was a wreck. Devastated. Because of _him_.

Anger. Blissful anger. For once, the cure to my problems—it was nice to have the familiar feeling of _poison _running through my veins.

But I could never stay mad at him for long. I sighed and threw my head into my pillow—it was so much easier on my skull than the desk, but offered no reassuring sound. I wanted to scream, but I didn't want him to hear me. I didn't want him to know what I'd become.

Bliss. Happiness. _Rage. _Guilt. Disgust—directed at myself. Hope. Anger. Depression.

And repeat.

Stupid emotions. They were killing me.

And the fact that it was the weekend made it worse—more time _alone. _I didn't want anybody to see me like this, of course, but maybe with some sort of distraction, like school, I would forget about Matt for a while. Or, at the very least, he wouldn't be the _only _thought on my mind for a while.

I would have played football with some boys I knew—not well enough to call friends, but well enough that I could play with them if I wanted—but I didn't feel like it. I wanted to see Matt, and him alone, but that, of course, was out of the question.

So I just stayed in my room, the curtains closed. I wanted to immerse myself in darkness. Alone. And mope.

I didn't really _want _to, really, but I didn't feel like doing anything else. So I just stayed in my room.

I had slept through breakfast, and sipped lunch, but by dinner, I couldn't fight back my hunger for much longer. And since I was now out of chocolate—I cursed myself for my binge a few days ago; I could really have used a box or two now, both because of my gnawing hunger and aggravating, disruptive, distracting emotions, and reminded myself to replenish my chocolate stash (and clean up those teasing, still-chocolate-scented wrappers)—there was no other choice but to go to dinner.

And, most likely, face Matt.

The thought made me smile—for a split second. Then I realized it would only renew my already too-powerful emotions, making me feel guiltier, more jealous, and just all-around _worse. _

Still, the urge to go see him, along with my stupid, useless hunger, finally forced me to get up, half-heartedly struggle to brush my stupid, uselessly messy hair—I gave up after a while, letting it stay slightly messy; I couldn't get it perfect, anyway—and begin another fateful encounter with Matt.

Technically, dinner started an hour and a half ago, so the halls were mostly empty, free of the stampede of people rushing to the cafeteria; people were mostly in their rooms by now, still in the cafeteria, or outside (we were allowed outside at any time, though discouraged from playing sports or doing any other loud, aka fun, activity after 10 PM).

So, that meant the cafeteria was basically empty by the time I arrived, other than a few stragglers that, like me, waited until now to start eating.

We were allowed to show up any time between the two hours allotted for dinner, to allow us more free—by which was heavily implied, "study"—time. The food was on heating lamps, so it wasn't cold, but you could taste the difference between the fresh food and the food they served to kids that arrived later, like me, so most kids arrived as early as they could.

This provided me with an unobstructed view of Matt at his table, though there was something different, something even more painful than seeing him with all of those girls, day after day.

He was alone.

I doubted _all _those girls—or even one—had just given up interest in him, which meant one thing: I was right. He _did _want to be alone, even though, by the way he twisted his fork in one hand, while leaning his head glumly on the other, it was destroying him the same way it was me.

I could tell he wasn't used to being alone, and I wanted desperately to go comfort him. But I knew it would only make him feel worse. Even if, currently, it looked like he couldn't bear another second of being alone, I could tell it was what he needed, what was best for him—being with those girls would make him more confused.

So I turned my gaze away from him and left to go get my food, another meager meal (by choice; I was starving, but nothing looked good to me, so I didn't bother getting much).

I don't know why I did it—I should have just taken the table closest to the kitchen, where I picked up my food, near a group of boys excitedly chatting about something, blocking the view of Matt—but I was compelled to take a seat on the side _opposite _of the cafeteria. Because I knew I would have to pass Matt to get there.

And as I did, he looked up. At _me. _With so much emotion, I couldn't even tell what he thought of me. His eyes flickered from hope to loneliness to confusion to disgust.

And then he looked away, down at the table.

And I kept walking.

Every glance of him over the past few days was torture—it tore me apart, even when he didn't look miserable. Just seeing him alone was bad enough, but he looked completely miserable—he had his head down, his hair was messy and tangled and his _eyes… _It was like he was dead. Flashes of emotion whenever he looked at me, if I managed to catch his eye, but other than that, he was sullen, emotionless.

I'd see him walk into class late with his hair a tangled wreck and his eyes red. As if he'd been _crying. _I couldn't picture it—it didn't seem like him at all— and when I tried, it made me feel worse.

He always hurried to a seat in the back of the room, and as far away from me as he could get, and alone. He always made sure none of the girls sat by him. If they tried, he shouted at them for being too close. And the one girl that sat directly next to him nearly got hit—luckily, she moved out of the way (or else she would have told someone) and the teacher had his back turned to us, while he wrote on the board, so he didn't notice. But still, the class murmured about him—and he didn't care. He just continued sulking.

It was like the girls confused him even more; it made sense but not at first. If what I said really _did _make him reconsider his sexuality then he wouldn't want a reminder of that—whether from me or a girl he used.

It was clearly an agonizing thing for him even though it was easier for me. Maybe he felt pressured to come up with a quick decision, to give me a definite answer.

Oh, God. Just another way that this was my fault. If I didn't know he'd only yell and hit me, I'd go apologize to him.

But I'd already decided to leave him alone to make this easier for both of us.

The next time rankings were posted, I noticed something—other than the fact that Near had beat me again. Matt's rank had fallen to fourth. He shouldn't be falling in rank—not with the way he had effortlessly reached _third _out of over a hundred gifted children and teens. And a few days later the teacher told one of the kids he had increased in rank.

Matt had fallen again. And this was all my fault.

Every day, I watched him eat, alone. He always ate fast, like I did when I had to see him with all the girls, then hurried out, doing his best to avoid as many people as he could. He used to be _proud, _yet now walked with his head down. Embarrassed and awkward, struggling with his choice.

I followed him one day. He walked fast in the halls avoiding eye contact with anyone in his path. When he got to his room, he opened his door, slipping in quickly before slamming and, a moment later, locking it. The sound reminded me of when I confessed my feelings to him for the first time.

Another wave of guilt washed over me, and I sighed, also remembering what it was like to have my hopes crushed. When I decided to follow him, I'd had no intention of trying to talk to him again. But seeing him deteriorate like this, seeing him without his confidence, without his pride, made me want to join him, to return him to his former state.

Over the next few days in class, I saw Matt playing a videogame under his desk, not paying attention in the slightest. Not because he was particularly engrossed in his game; I suspected he just couldn't focus on the class any more—because of _me, _what I'd said to him, and his thoughts and doubts. But, rather than show he was emotional, and confused, he chose to act bored—even though, from the reflection in the window, he lost quite often, which I wouldn't expect from someone with as many games and consoles as him, confirming my suspicions: he was too confused to fully focus on anything, no matter how he tried to hide it.

It worked—I wouldn't have known better, if I hadn't been the _cause _of his confusion. And now that he made it clear he wasn't going to pay attention to anyone around him, no one bothered to even try to sit by him—empty desks surrounded him on all sides.

Still, the kids whispered about him. It was nothing unusual for a new kid to be withdrawn from others, to avoid his studies. But _after _making friends, after attaining a high rank, was unusual, and even though it was attributed to missing his family, his old, possibly comfortable life, it was unusual. I wasn't the only one that knew something was wrong, although I was the only one that knew _why _he was like this—the rumors were ridiculous.

I noticed something else, but I didn't know if he did it on purpose, or if it was unintentional, something he wanted, but didn't even know himself—subconscious thoughts and feelings—or maybe knew and tried to hide, but failed. Every time we had class, he would take one desk closer to me, no matter where I sat. I didn't notice it at first, but it became obvious when he was four desks away from me.

Eventually, he sat directly next to me. Though I was hopeful he would offer an explanation—which wasn't like me; I typically wouldn't condone anyone talking to me during class, but next to Matt, particularly because of what had happened lately, I wouldn't have concentrated anyway—for his strange behavior, or apologize for avoiding me, he was silent, much to my disappointment.

Still, he appeared to be focused on something for once, and even halfheartedly took the notes, but he didn't seem to care about school. He didn't seem to have brought his game to class today, either. He just sat and looked up at the clock every minute or so, waiting for the bell to ring. I wondered what was so special, but attempted to focus on the lesson, instead. If I tried to ask him about it, he might stop sitting next to me—something I enjoyed. Maybe he didn't like me, but wanted to keep me as a friend. If I said too much, I might ruin that.

So when the bell rang, I stood up to leave. But that was when he broke his silence grabbing my hand when I bent down to pick up my books.

I was shocked—confused at first, but then the contact made my heart race. _He _initiated it. _He _touched _me. _

When he let go and began talking—only one sentence, disappointingly—my wrist tingled where he grabbed it. His hands were slightly damn—he must be as nervous as I was.

"I'm ready to talk… So come with me."

_**I was going to post this on Friday, and try to have chapter six up today, but I'm still stressed out from school so I don't feel like doing much. And as for future updates, we'll see. I don't have as much time as last year**__**—**__**most of my classes are active, and I have to be involved. And even when I get home, I'm stressed, have homework, and just generally don't feel like writing. I just do as much as I can to distress and get ready for the next day. . **_

_**I did have time to write this in P.E., since we're still buying clothes and locks and everything, but that's only for a few weeks. Hopefully it's enough time to finish this; I wrote a fair amount Friday and Wednesday. Or whenever I had P.E., I can't even remember.**_

_**I apologize for leaving it on a cliffhanger and saying I won't update for a while, but it'll be worth the wait, I hope. Otherwise, you get a half-assed chapter that makes no sense and is inconsistent. **_

_**You also have no idea how much I just want to randomly insert the word "bucket" in this. No. Idea. **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Well, I didn't really see this chapter as the end until I finished writing it. I've always been bad at ending things, but this seems complete to me, and I don't think I could write more. So, enjoy this last chapter.**_

He spoke the words hesitantly, confirming my thoughts—he was extremely nervous. And, now that he spoke the words I'd been waiting for, so was I.

Now that I was faced with his answer, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know what he thought about me. Obviously he could tolerate my presence again, but even if I got a negative response, he would have forced himself to talk to me. He didn't automatically love be just because he could talk to me—in fact, the odds were probably greater that he loathed me in the same way I loathed Near, rather than love me.

So, even though my heart raced and my stomach churned—I'd definitely avoid eating lunch—I had to find out for sure, and get rid of my false hope once and for all.

And of course, from the sound of his voice—quiet, almost apologetic…Or was it barely restrained anger, as he forced himself to speak to me?—what choice did I have but to follow him?

"All right, then."

I hoped he couldn't tell how nervous, yet excited, I was. But he probably knew anyway—I told him how I felt about him, after all. How couldn't he know?

Rather than his naturally confident stance, or the sullen lurk I'd noticed lately, he just seemed to be shy and embarrassed for once. It wasn't noticeable purely from his walk, but more prominent in his actions—how he went out of his way to assure privacy for us, when he could have told me a simple answer in the classroom—it had been mostly empty anyway.

It gave me more hope that he had positive feelings for me—if I disgusted him, he probably wouldn't have a problem saying it. After all, if he embarrassed me, it would be _funny _to him.

_Unless it would embarrass him, too. He probably doesn't want everyone to know the gay kid has a crush on him._

Sadly, that was a possibility. Even here, some of the kids aren't always tolerant or understanding. It just isn't something you can escape. I had always been able to forget or ignore the names I had been called, but if Matt started insulting me, the words would be with me forever.

_Maybe he wants to be alone so he can insult me more harshly than he would around others._

Without knowing it, lost in my nervous, racing thoughts, I had followed Matt all the way to his room. I hadn't even realized where we were for a few moments; my body was practically on autopilot.

It was the first time I was actually _inside _Matt's room, so I couldn't resist looking around. It looked like he'd made a conscious attempt to clean up the mess I'd seen last time, which I wouldn't expect from someone appearing to barely keep their emotions in. His bed was made, his dirty clothes were in a basket, and most of his games were on a stand near the TV, rather than scattered on the floor.

He _expected _me. He _planned _this.

I wasn't sure how that made me feel—nervous, or glad he cared enough to clean up his room for me.

…He _cared? _

His room was about the same size as mine, but rather than books, games and their consoles dominated the room. If he turned out not to hate me, I'd have to ask him to play sometime.

On the nightstand rested a pair of orange goggles—I wondered why he didn't wear them. _He'd probably look good in them, _I thought, biting back a grin. I had to be serious now, even with my heart racing.

Aside from that, though, the room was mainly empty, excluding his bed and a TV. He'd just moved in a month ago, but without any real personal touch, the room felt empty and cold. There weren't even any posters on the wall.

Matt shut and locked the door, the noise startling me slightly, enough to pull me out of my thoughts. It confused me—he wanted to be _completely_ alone with me, to ensure nobody would walk in by chance.

What was he planning? The thought made me nervous. Did he love me, or did I repulse him?

Matt had seemed happier today—or, at least, in a better mood than he'd been in lately. His hair wasn't tangled, his clothes were clean, and he didn't yell at anybody in the class for _looking _at him. But as the clock counted down to the end of class, he seemed more anxious than ever.

Probably because he planned to take me here.

But why? I didn't know if I should feel this nervous.

Matt took a deep breath and sat on his bed. He started to make a gesture for me to join him, while I stood awkwardly by the door, but stopped, choosing to rest his hands in his lap instead, giving the appearance of shyness.

It made me curious—and now I doubted he would be this quiet, or as nervous as I was, if he would only give a negative response.

"I just have this to say."

My heart pounded as he began to speak. I didn't know what to expect, and I didn't want to think he loved me. What if he didn't?

He was as nervous as I was—he took another deep breath before continuing.

"I think… I _do _have feelings for you."

He seemed relieved to get those words out, and now that they were, he spoke more confidently while I remained in a state of shock.

He…Really _did? _

"But…I'm not entirely sure how strong they are. I keep thinking about you, and… It's been that way since we met, but it confused me so much, because I've never had feelings for a guy… Not like this. I thought they would go away, so I forced them down and surrounded myself with girls; maybe I'd have feelings for one of them, but that didn't work."

He gave a harsh chuckle, then continued before I could even reply, giving his "speech" a practiced air, despite his nervousness and hesitance to say certain words.

"But it just confused me more. There was this blonde girl, and she reminded me of you, and… I couldn't do anything. I didn't _want _to think of you. And when you told me you wanted to date me, well… It made this whole thing _real, _which caught me off guard."

I was shocked. He really returned my feelings?

"But… Why did you ignore me? If you felt the same, you could have just told me. It sounds like you had a hard time, and if you didn't have to go through that… Why would you?"

Matt shook his head. "That would have been worse. I didn't want to know what I was, so I forced those thoughts down. I forced myself to avoid it."

I was about to point out that _that _was worse, but he shook his head, silencing me.

"I didn't want to come to terms with it, and if I told you, that would have forced me to. But then you told me you felt the same, and I cried—cried because I thought we couldn't be together. So I still forced it down."

I resisted the urge to walk over to the other side of the room and wrap my arms around him, to comfort him.

"But… I saw how it affected you, and I didn't think I could bear to see you like that, especially because of my actions."

It made sense—I felt the _exact _same way. I thought _he _was depressed because of what _I _said. And while that was technically true, so was the opposite. But it might work out yet; he _was _telling me this. And that meant there was hope.

"So, I decided to tell you that…I'm sorry for how I acted, and… I _do _love you."

He finally looked at me, blushing, instead of looking at the ground as he had throughout his monologue. I suspected if he looked at me, he wouldn't have been able to say half of those things—it would have been too embarrassing.

But I was sure I was blushing, too—what he said had caught me by surprise. He _loved _me? I didn't know what to say, what to do, so I found myself doing the most natural thing: I walked over to him, wrapped my arms around him, and gently pushed him below me onto the bed, pressing my lips against his. Wondrously, he didn't force me away. And even more miraculously, he _kissed me back _after letting out a small moan. He even wrapped his arms around me to pull me as close as he possibly could.

He really did love me!

I'd been trying, much like him, to force the thoughts of what _could_be between us, even as he'd talked—just because he didn't hate me didn't mean he felt the same way. But finally, with him underneath me and my lips against his, it finally clicked.

_He loves me. _

While we held each other, it seemed both like an incredibly short moment—albeit one I never wanted to end—and an impossibly short one. How could so much happen in just one moment? How could he hate me an hour ago and be kissing me, holding me, now? How could my world change so drastically in such a short span of time?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that I had him and I was willing to give my whole being to him—my heart, mind, and body. Everything.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless—both from the shock of realizing we could be together at last and from the kiss itself—he looked at me with such intense love and adoration that I couldn't help but smile. Now that he didn't have to force down his feelings, I suspected things would be like this for a while—he would be overly affectionate like this to "make up for lost time." Even though we had all the time in the world, I couldn't complain—I felt the same way he did. Now that he was finally mine, I wanted to hold him in my arms and keep him there as long as he would let me.

So, I did.

It was silent for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable—we were both content to stay there, laying on the bed, in the other's arms. But soon after—or, not so soon; I couldn't feel time passing when I was with him—we began talking about everything. It surprised me how much I didn't know about hi, and how much I told him about he that he didn't know—we really were making up for lost time. I'd known him for only a month or two; realizing it had been that long shocked me. It didn't seem like it had been that long—a few days, at the most!

He told me about his family life; he'd had a younger brother, but because of the nature of Wammy's House, accepting only the most gifted kids, they'd been split up.

"It really made me sad, because I didn't want to even come here—it doesn't interest me, becoming L."

"Well, here, you have me, from now on," I said, pulling him closer so he could rest his head on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I do."

He gave a small smile, then he told me how he knew where his brother was—a family in LA had adopted him.

"I'll tell you what," I said, running my hand up and down his back soothingly (I hoped). "As soon as we're old enough, we'll go find him."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Of course."

Seeing the hopeful expression filled my heart with warmth. I couldn't help but smile—he brought out my gentler side, the best of me.

I heard him murmur, "Markus Jeevas…" under his breath, solemnly. I was shocked to see his serious side. I guess under all of his charisma and aloof attitude, he really was suffering sometimes. It made him feel more…Human.

Still, I didn't like seeing him like this. I stroked his head, fingers tangling in his vibrant red hair.

"That's his name?"

"Yeah… Unless they…Changed it…" His voice wavered a bit, in a way that made my heart ache. He shouldn't have to feel this way.

I kept him close, to comfort him, making "shh…" noises, hoping it would relax him. "They wouldn't have, I'm sure."

"Yeah…" He didn't sound entirely convinced, but his voice sounded stronger and more confident than before.

"Can I…Tell you my name?"

The question caught me off guard—he'd been doing that a lot lately. It was forbidden here, and even telling me his brother's name (his last name in particular) was against the strict rules, which he definitely knew. But it had become the ultimate sign of trust between two Wammy's kida, one of the most significant bonds possible to forge between us, to link us together. A bond that could never be broken.

"If you want to. I won't tell anybody."

"Okay. My real name is… Mail Jeevas," he said quietly, as if afraid of being overheard.

It was an extraordinary thing, knowing his real name.

"It suits you," I said. "Mine's… Mihael. Mihael Keehl."

And with those words, we were bonded for life, regardless of what happened to us. We had a mutual secret, and even if we came to detest each other later on, we would not risk telling anybody the other's true name, as ours would be revealed as well.

But I doubted Matt would betray me—and I knew I could never betray him. We would take each other's name to the grave, along with our own.

But for now, I just held him in my arms, glad to finally have him as mine.

_**I hoped you liked the ending! It's really sad to finish a story, and I hope I did a good job with this one. I think I did; I don't have any other ideas to end this. Sorry if it seems a bit rushed, but since the point of this was Mello wanting to be with Matt, continuing would feel repetitive or redundant**__**—**__**there wouldn't be any plot. **_

_**Also, I'm really proud of myself for not making them have sex on the bed. XD**_

_**I'm glad you all liked this; thank you all for reading it, and especially thank you to all the people that reviewed it (even the anons that I can't really thank personally)!**_

_**I have another two chapter story pretty much done, and a lot of other chapter fics that should be about this length planned, so if any of you actually like my mediocre writing skills, you might be interested in that. **_

_**But I'd really like to thank you all, again, for reading this. :] **_


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